


Make Me Your Home

by Unclesteeb



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 19:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9286853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unclesteeb/pseuds/Unclesteeb
Summary: Sometimes, things need more than dusting and cleaning. Sometimes, things just require a lot of hard work.





	

When it's all said and done, Steve finds them a new home. It's a tiny thing -just a little cabin- somewhere too cold, too white and too suburban for Sam’s taste but-

“It's safe, Sammy.” Steve tells him with wide pleading eyes.

Sam nods, because where the hell else is he supposed to go? Right now, they don’t have anywhere to be but here and Sam hates it. He can't go home- fuck- where would he even consider home? It's not where he's been living for the past two years because that's at the New Avengers Compound. Sure, it was convenient and luxurious but Sam always felt closed in despite the remote location. Sam always felt a little too big for his skin, a little too fizzy. Steve would notice before Sam could even identify the feelings for what they were and the two of them would escape for the weekend. They'd go all sorts of places- the beach, Sam’s mom's house, Brooklyn, Philadelphia. Their cute little weekend getaways. Natasha would always tease them about it.

 _“Please,”_ Steve begs, snapping Sam back to himself. “Just come inside.”

He gives Sam's hand a little tug and pulls him along. The cabin smells musty and moldy. It smells old and like it hasn't been truly cleaned properly in a decade or two. There are dusty sheets over pieces of furniture in the living room. There's a tiny kitchen with all the essentials and a small hallway past the fridge leading toward the bedroom.

“Come on,” Steve says, continuing to pull Sam by the hand. It's not until they've entered the bedroom that Sam notices Steve's chest is heaving. He's panting in a way he shouldn't be. He's shaking a little and his normally-pink cheeks have lost all their color. It's not until Steve's sits himself on the edge of the bed that Sam realizes what's actually wrong with Steve.

He's having a panic attack.

Steve makes himself small and pulls his knees up to his chest. He tucks his head in-between his legs and rocks himself back and forth.

“They're all gone,” is what he manages.

Sam _knows_ what to do when someone's having a panic attack. Sam knows he should provide Steve with a firm hand to ground himself with. He knows he should speak slowly and calmly. He should offer words of encouragement and get Steve calmed down enough so that he can hold him or stroke his hair, maybe kiss his cheeks. Steve's done it for Sam a few times on his rougher days. This is what they do for each other, him and Steve. They pick each other back up. They bleed on each other in the quiet of their bedroom so that nobody has to see, nobody has to know. Their ugly secrets stay safe.  


Maybe that's why Sam feels like he can do what he wants to do. Maybe that's why Sam allows himself to get mad, to boil over, for his anger to bubble up in his gut and foam like a pot full of water turned on too high. It's just them now. Steve knows it too. They're all gone. Everyone else is gone.

“They are.” Sam says and then he turns on his heel and leaves the room, shutting the door with such a force that dust flies up from the floorboards. The specks glint in the sunlight that streams through the windows. Sam hears the rustling of blankets and then nothing more. Now he's gone too.

Not really, of course, but only because he's a fucking criminal. He wants to leave. He wants to run but if they caught him. If- he'd go back to the-  


_Do not think about that place, do not think about that at all-_

If he were caught again. 

But it's then, as Sam takes the first sheet off of a large chair in the living room, that Sam realizes where home is to him. Where he wants to be.

In Washington DC, the day before he met Steve Rogers.

***

Steve sleeps.

He sleeps and sleeps in a way that Sam's never seen it before. At first it's actually nice. For as much as Sam's angry he's here, he knows that he just has to find a way to deal. For as angry as Sam is at Steve, he still loves him. Anger is a passing emotion, it can grow and fester but it fades over time if you let it. What Sam and Steve have is special, sacred, the kind of love you read about in children's books and fairy tales. Steve loves Sam so fiercely, Sam knows this. Steve loves him in a way that maybe only Steve can, maybe it's a serum-enhanced thing. Steve once told him that he feels more than he used to, emotionally and physically. Sam wonders what it would feel like to love someone that deeply.

The thought excites him just as much as it terrifies him. Sam decided, a long while ago, that he deserves to have Steve love him like that (after a long period of self doubt), if for nothing else than as repentance for being stuck here. And the sleeping.

At first, it's okay because Sam's so damn tired in every sense of the word that he just lets Steve hold him and drifts in and out. They both wake up with nightmares. They both toss and turn and accidentally punch each other in the face but that's okay. It is. Really.

After a week it, Steve's sleeping starts to take its toll.

It's Monday, or maybe Tuesday when Sam's completely finished cleaning the cabin of all its dirt and grime. Steve made sure they had everything they'd need for a month when they were preparing to head here, so Sam cooks and cleans and busies himself reading through old classic novels that take rest on the cabin’s bookshelves. He sleeps and wakes. He sees entire sunrises and sunsets while Steve's just asleep.

It takes him a week to realize he's lonely.

“Get up.” He says, nudging Steve with his hand. “You need to eat.”

“I just ate.”

_“Yesterday.”_

That makes Steve's head poke up from the blankets. “I missed another day?”

Sam nods and Steve just blinks blearily at him a few times.

“If I eat will you come back to bed with me?”

Sam feels himself simmer, but he pushes it down. Steve needs him right now. “Yeah.”

Steve watches Sam carefully as they eat the beef stew that Sam's been cooking all day. Sam sees it- Steve's eyes come to focus. His shoulders straighten. His brow furrows.

“How long have I been in that bed?” He asks, quiet, ashamed.

Sam stabs a carrot with his fork, “Honestly? I lost track of time.”

 

“You don't have to stay awake for me.” Sam says the next day. Steve did really well this morning. He actually stirred when Sam got out of bed and then about half an hour later climbed out himself. He's been trying to read Frankenstein for about an hour. Sam's not sure it's the best choice for him. Sam's not surprised at himself when he doesn't warn Steve about it.

Steve doesn't respond for a long while. Silence fills the cabin. The lack of noise hurts Sam's ears. Not a page is turned. A floorboard doesn't creek. The wind doesn't hit against their windows.

Steve says, “Yes I do.” And the way he says it is so convicted, so sure that Sam doesn't even reply. Steve scoots closer to him on the couch and Sam lets him. Steve picks up his hand and kisses every one of Sam's fingers. For some reason, it makes Sam want to cry.

***

Steve comes out of his fog completely just as the house needs cleaning again.

“Let me,” Steve says, offering a smile and prying the rag out of Sam’s hands. “Sit down. Relax.”

Sam furrows his eyebrows but does as he is told and plops himself right down onto the couch.

Neither of them say a word for a while. It’s not an unusual thing for them recently, the silence. It’s been building around them ever since they got here. It’s been dividing them. It’s been hurting them. Sam doesn’t bother with small talk. Sam doesn’t bother because he’s tired. He hurts down to his bones and he knows it isn’t from old injuries. What hurts Sam doesn’t just heal with time.

He looks up at Steve who’s humming a tune softly to himself almost as if Sam isn’t even there.

His heart hurts. This is what it must be like for them. Maybe this is the beginning of their end, their storybook's close.

Sam's suddenly grateful. At least some of what is hurting him will heal with time, in time.

Heartbreak never lasts forever.

***

It takes Steve longer than Sam expected to realize what's happening.

After he does, Sam learns something he probably already knew. It takes a while, but just as two people can grow apart, they can grow back together just the same. Sometimes, things need more than dusting and cleaning. Sometimes, things just require a lot of hard work.

“Hey,” Steve says, propping himself up on his elbow enough to look at Sam.

Sam lets his book fall on his chest, he wasn’t reading it anyway. “What?”

“I bet we could fix this place up.”

“How?”

“It’s just really dark and dreary in here. I bet we could go into town and get some new furniture, for starters.” Then he grins, “I bet Natasha knows a way we can order some without being spotted.”

Sam blinks at him, then lets himself drift off. He daydreams of a plush couch to sink into. He thinks about a bright and cheery mirror, maybe a comfy chair. He thinks of artwork and vases. He thinks about his old home. Where he wishes he was.

“Sure,” Sam says, because he doesn’t see a reason to protest. “Why not?”

***  
When Steve heads into town, Sam’s not expecting him to return with an entire living room’s worth of furniture in the back of a pick-up. He’s not expecting Steve to flash him a smile and start moving the old shit out while Sam’s helpless to do anything but gape.

He worked hard on that couch, he thinks as Steve tosses it.

He scrubbed the life out of and back into that bookshelf.

He really spent a lot of time on that rug.

Sam feels himself burning up, boiling over. He feels his throat get tight. He wants to go home, wants to go anywhere but-

“Sam,” Steve says. “Sam.” Steve places a strong hand on Sam’s shoulder, grounding him. “You’re okay. You’re safe.” he says, slowly and calmly. He pulls Sam tightly against his chest and Sam just goes, pliant, easy. He places a gentle kiss on the side of Sam’s temple and says, “I’m here. You’ve got me. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you did.” Sam croaks, the sound of his voice surprising himself. “You did. You left me.”

“I’m sorry.” Steve whispers. “I’m sorry I let them do that to you. We should have stayed, should have-”

“No. Yes. You left me then, but you left me here too. I was alone Steve. I was alone for weeks and you just fucking slept. You shut it out. You shut me out. I’m so tired. I’m so tired. I miss you. I’m so fucking tired.”

Suddenly, Sam’s being swept off of his feet and carried through the house, past the bedroom into the bathroom. Because Steve knows that when he’s feeling like shit he likes to take a shower. Steve knows this, and cares enough to help.

“I’m so sorry.” Steve says, pulling off his clothes. As soon as he’s naked he’s back next to Sam, stripping him down too. “I’m so sorry. Everything was just so much.”

“The f-furniture.”

“We can finish moving it later.”

“I cleaned it all when you were asleep.” It’s not what Steve was expecting to hear and his head snaps up. “I cleaned everything when you were asleep.”

“Why?” Steve asks quietly.

“Because you weren’t going to. Because that’s what you do. You leave and I clean up. You run away and I stay.”

Steve’s frozen in his spot for a long moment and for a second Sam thinks he’s going to defend himself. He’s going to yell and they’re going to just duke it out and move past this. But he doesn’t. He just nods his head and finishes stripping Sam down before stepping into the shower and pulling Sam in with him.

“I’m so fucking mad at you.” Sam finally grits out. He’s been wanting to say it for so long. He doesn’t care that it’s going to sting.

Steve doesn’t say anything, he just pulls their bodies flush and wraps those big strong hands around Sam, pulling him close.

Sam lets Steve cradle him to his chest. It feels safe. It feels good. He’s surprised at just how good. He feels lighter than he’s felt in a while.

“Thank you for telling me.” Steve says. He rocks them slowly back and forth, their entire bodies pressed up tight. “You’re my home. You’re the only home that I’ve known since 1943. I’m just really sorry I haven’t been able to slow down enough so that I could be yours too.”

Sam shuts his eyes tight. He’s crying. He sinks even closer to Steve. “I need a new home now. I can't go back to mine.”

“No you don’t.” Steve whispers. “I’m not going anywhere anymore.”

***

With work, Steve and Sam turn their little cabin into a real _home_.

The white walls in the bedroom get accented with a light blue. Sam picks them out a bright comforter with reds and oranges. Steve quirks an eyebrow at him as he fluffs in onto their bed. “Blue, red and orange?”

Sam smiles. It feels funny on his face. It feels good. “All that judgement from a guy who wears khakis four days a week.” Then Sam's being scooped up and flung down so hard on the bed that he bounces up.

“Hey!”

Steve climbs on and over top of him. “Take it back.”

“Why?”

“You _like_ my khakis.”

He's smiling too, Sam realizes. He says, “Never!”

The two of them wrestle like eight-year-olds at a slumber party. Elbows are thrown. Arms are bitten. Steve gets Sam pinned under him with his forearms pressed down on Sam's biceps. He just looks at Sam and pants then he screws up his face and leans in to kiss Sam. It's been so long. It's been so damn long since they've kissed that Sam didn't even remember he missed it at all but he did, oh lord he did. Steve slides his tongue into Sam's mouth and Sam's helpless but to make a noise- a pleading begging noise. He grips at Steve’s forearms the best he can and digs his fingernails in, desperate.

Steve pulls off, “Tell me what you want, Sam. You gotta say.”

“I want _everything_.”

Steve gives him what he wants. It's different. It's not bad, but it's _different_ \- Sam can tell. It's supposed to be different. It's slow, it's cherishing. It's Steve staying exactly where he is. He's not rushing. He's not hurrying off. This isn't a quickie before bed, no.

“I love you.” Steve says, kissing down the bare skin on Sam's belly.

“I'm sorry,” Steve whispers into his mouth.

“You're my everything.” Steve promises, nipping at the bottom of Sam's ear.

“Please stay. Don't get up yet.” Sam asks, after. It's a funny little argument they've had again and again. _We can just wash up tomorrow. Come on and hold me._ And Steve's always laughed and gotten up, finished what he needed to do.

“I won't.” Steve tells him. He holds Sam close and lets the sticky mess of their bodies dry into something that should feel more uncomfortable than it is.

***

Sometimes, Steve still sleeps. Sometimes Sam still cleans alone. Sometimes his thoughts get too loud. Sometimes he can’t look at Steve without wanting to scream and yell. Sometimes he just does it. Steve surprises Sam all the time now. He drags himself out of bed. He forces himself to get up off of the couch and help clean. He starts conversation when before he would let the silence swallow them both up. He’s trying. Sam knows he’s trying. Sam loves him for it. He lets Sam be angry and he lets Sam be sad and he holds Sam when Sam’s scared. Sam loves him for that too.

When it’s all said and done, it won’t be the rekindling of a spark that brings Sam and Steve closer than ever, but instead a slow burning fire, one that was never quite extinguished. It swells and grows with every bit of trust that Steve earns back, with every bit of comfort Sam provides Steve. Every time they help each other the fire burns brighter. Every new knick-knack, every shelf, every blanket that they add to the cabin makes it into a home- their home.

“They’re all gone.” Steve says one night. They’re in bed together, bodies pressed up tight.

“They still love us.” Sam tells him. “All our friends still love us. They’ll be back.”

Steve rolls over and kisses him.

***

The old furniture makes good firewood. The firewood makes heat to keep them both warm. The warmth of their house allows them to sit skin against skin. It gives them the chance to say things without words. Steve and Sam are both more physical guys anyway.

They’re chopping up the old bookshelves. Sam doesn’t allow himself to think about the hours he spent scrubbing them over and over until the wood came clean. He doesn’t allow himself to think of the books he read while Steve was sleeping, or the books Steve read while the silence was still around. Instead, he thinks about Steve’s lips on his skin. Steve’s fingers everywhere.

“I need more wood to chop.” Steve says, all cocky and proud.

Sam rolls his eyes, “I don’t even know why I’m out here at all.”

Steve shrugs, “You want to be where I am.”

It’s supposed to be a joke but it doesn’t feel like one, not to Sam anyway. It’s a question that he answers, “I do, now. Yeah.”

A smile creeps its way onto Steve’s face. “Well go ahead and sit down and give me something pretty to look at. Wouldn’t want your arms getting too tired.”

***

Sam likes the new couch.

It's a nice dark gray color. Steve's gotten two green throw pillows for it. Right now Sam's got his head on one and his feet in Steve's lap. Steve's rubbing gently on one of them, his fingers pressing into the arch just enough so that it doesn't tickle.

“We’re not okay.” Steve says. It isn't a question.

“No,” Sam answers. He looks around the cabin. It's almost springtime now. They've just eaten dinner and it's still light out. The trees outside are starting to bloom, little buds popping out where the leaves will be soon. There's no dust on the new light-wood bookshelves. There's a TV in the living room now, even though they only have a few DVDs to watch on it. Steve's painted a few pictures that hang on their walls. Sam's favorite is one of the ocean. Steve had painted it and gave Sam a kiss and promised that they would go back to a beach soon. Sam had smiled and made Steve promise to remember the sunscreen this time. Sam knows that it's going to be a while before they really get to leave here. Sam knows that when they do, they'll probably have to go and fight. They'll have to save the world again. But right now they don't have anywhere to be but here, and for right now that's okay. Really. It is. “We’re not. But we’re getting there.”

Steve gives Sam an easy smile.

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU to everyone who participated in or helped organize the samsteve gift exchange! What a wonderful idea! Follow me on [ tumblr!](unclesteeb.tumblr.com)


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